


If The Earth Ends In Fire

by klauseance



Series: The Umbrella Academy: Chasing After Time [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Action, Angst, Angst and Humor, Dark, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lots of Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Apocalypse, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Protective OC, Saving the World, Sibling Bonding, TV Show timeline, but also some soft moments, idk how to tag, powers, pre-TV show timeline, the OCs are from the other 36 children, they're NOT going to be the main focus, though there are relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 15:32:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klauseance/pseuds/klauseance
Summary: In October 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. None of these women had been pregnant when the day first began.Iris Breslin and Felix Irwin were one of those 43 miracle children. And they were two of the 36 that weren’t given up to the eccentric and reclusive billionaire, Sir Reginald Hargreeves. And that was perfectly fine with them. They had absolutely no wish to be superheroes running around wearing ridiculous costumes. A quiet life was a good life, a peaceful life.But the universe is funny like that. Fate called, and the two somehow find themselves reluctantly trying to fend off the end of the world as they knew it alongside the so-called Umbrella Academy.They just didn't realize it would be such a shit show.





	If The Earth Ends In Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Iris Breslin (The Reaper/Number Eight): able to manipulate people's life force
> 
> Felix Irwin (The Phoenix/Number Nine): able to create and manipulate the element fire

**_October 1, 1995_ **

 

“Um. We have a bit of a problem.”

 

A ringing silence met her words. She knew better than to speak, though, so she waited nervously while clutching the open purple manila folder in her hand. The silence was broken by a firm tapping on the wooden mahogany desk. There was a small sigh, and then “What kind of problem?”

 

She stepped forward quickly, turning the manila folder over. “Page two and three.”

 

A ruffling of paper, followed by a small hum. “Well then.”

 

“I-it was completely unpredictable—”

 

Sharp blue eyes silenced her. “How long have you been working here?”

 

She stuttered over her words. “Um, a-about a year, maybe?”

 

“That’s long enough for you to know that nothing is unpredictable. Not in our line of work. Hmm?”

 

She nodded, a wave of embarrassment causing her cheeks to burn. “Yes, correct, I misspoke. I meant that it was a highly unlikely possibility but it looks as though—”

 

“—something is affecting the timeline,” finished the superior. “A surprise, maybe, but not so much a direct problem.”

 

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “How so?”

 

The superior smiled. “Why, we can most certainly use this to our advantage. We just have to play the cards right.”

 

“Yes, Handler.”

 

The Handler continued smiling, though it did not reach her eyes which remained cold and calculating. “Keep an eye on it. Do what you feel is necessary.”

 

She bowed her head in acknowledgement, turning on her heel to hurry out of the room when the Handler spoke again. “Oh, and Alice?”

 

She froze. She had never told the Handler her name. “Yes, Handler?”

 

The Handler grinned. “Leave those two a little...gift, will you?”

 

Alice paled considerably but nodded. “Of course, Handler.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Iris, happy birthday to you!”

 

Cheers followed from the children around the table as a little girl with red pigtails sitting at the top end grinned and clapped happily, showing off her missing front tooth. A beaming older woman placed the chocolate cake—with extra sprinkles, can’t forget that—in front of her. The candle of the number 6 was already lit and sitting in the dead center of the cake.

 

“Go on, Iris,” encouraged the woman, who Iris knew as Beverly. “Blow out the candle and make a wish!”

 

Iris sat there and thought long and hard about what wish she wanted to make. A new toy? Candy? A trip to the beach? No, none of those. Not as much as she wanted one thing. She closed her eyes and leaned forward.

 

_ I wish I could find someone like me… _

 

She blew out the candles amidst more clapping and cheering, and the cake was cut.

 

“What did you wish for, Iris?” asked the little boy—she knew him as Jackson—sitting next to her, his mouth full of cake and chin decorated with some stray sprinkles.

 

“Yeah, Iris!” echoed others. “Tell us!”

 

But Iris knew better. “If I tell you, then it won’t come true,” she said very matter-of-factly, adjusting the birthday hat on her head. “It’s a secret.”

 

Jackson frowned, reaching out to poke her arm. “Come on, Iris,” he whined. “Just tell us.”

 

Iris held her chin up and shook her head. Before Jackson could protest further, Beverly clapped her hands together to get the children’s attention. “Come give your presents to Iris everyone!”

 

That distracted everyone enough to draw their attention away from Iris’s private wish to grabbing their presents and eagerly handing them over. Before Iris could begin opening them, Beverly said again, “There’s one present left here. Who’s is it?”

 

Each of the children were holding their presents in their hands, and all she got was several disinterested shrugs. But Iris’s interest was piqued—a mysterious present for her? Feeling like she was someone special,  straight out of a storybook, she pushed herself out of her chair to grab the lonely present sitting by itself. It was a small box that could fit easily in her palm, wrapped neatly with purple paper. She tore off the wrapping paper impatiently, revealing a little black box. She opened the box, excited to reveal what was beneath.

 

She was sorely disappointed, and rather confused. Sitting lazily in the box was a small keychain of a black umbrella.  _ Who would give such a bad gift _ ? she thought bitterly, picking up the keychain gingerly.

 

She froze as an unfamiliar surge of nausea and something else overcame her. The box fell to her feet, though the keychain remained clutched in her hand. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as her wrists began to burn, as if someone had thrust them over scorching flames. Her vision had become distorted, discolored, and a sharp ringing pierced her ears.  _ What’s happening to me _ ?

 

She thought she heard her name being called, but she couldn’t focus on anything other than the immense pain she was in. Someone grabbed her by the shoulders, and something within her snapped. Her eyes zeroed in to the kaleidoscope of colors suddenly filling her vision and converging into a solid, vividly white ball of...something. She didn’t know what it was—only that she was ravenous for it. Her arm shot out and her small fingers wrapped around the throat, incredibly too strong for someone of that age.

 

What little she did remember, she tried to forget. A scream—or maybe multiple—echoed around her. She remembered being dragged away and a body dropping to the floor, white wisps trailing from the newly drained body to the tips of her stretched out fingers, absorbing through her skin and slithering through her veins until they reached the newly formed raven tattoo on her left wrist.

 

October 1st, 1995. The Reaper was born.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that what they were doing wasn’t right. That it wasn’t fair. But looking up at his mother smiling down at him, a small homemade cupcake sitting on her palm, made him forget that they were hiding in the attic. Made him forget  _ who _ they were trying to avoid while his mother made sure he got some semblance of a birthday. But he could see it in her eyes, how they always darted towards the door, the panic when she’d shush him quiet when she thought she heard footsteps. He knew, deep down, but he was too young to understand what it all meant.

 

“Go on, Felix,” she whispered. “Make a wish and blow out the candle.”

 

_ I don’t want to hide anymore _ …

 

He blew out the candle, beaming up at his mother. She removed the burnt out candle and handed him the cupcake. “Happy birthday, Felix.” She pulled him into her arms while he began eating, kissing his forehead and running her hand through his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself relax in the safety of his mother’s arms. They sat there in the setting sun that turned everything it touched into gold, in the quiet peace and comfort that they found in each other. How rare were these small moments, how treasured they ended up becoming.

 

“Come on,” his mother whispered. “Finish eating that cupcake so we can go back downstairs before he—”

 

Her words caught in her throat, and he felt the all too familiar creep of fear bubble in his stomach as they both heard the heavy footsteps marching up the stairs. His mother stood up rapidly, pushing her son behind her as the door slammed open against the wall, leaving a small dent. The house was used to the abuse.

 

There was a strong reek of alcohol, even he could smell it. His father narrowed his eyes, glancing from the candle on the floor and the half eaten cupcake still loosely held in Felix’s hand. A sneer formed on his lips as he took a haggard step forward. His mother pushed him further out of sight all while saying in a semi-calm voice, “James, you’re drunk again.”

 

“Oh, fuck off, Amy,” was the slurred reply. “Having a little party up here, are you?”

 

“James—”

 

“How many times do I have to tell you to  _ shut up _ before you actually do it, you  stupid fucking woman?” he spat, and Felix felt his mother flinch and tense.

 

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “Don’t talk to Mommy that way!”

 

His mother’s eyes widened in horror as she frantically placed one hand over his mouth, but it was already too late. He could see the rage gather on his father’s face, in the rapid reddening of his face and the tightening of his jaw. His hands balled into fists, as he charged forward, his words spitting out of his mouth.

 

“You wanna say that again, you little shit?”

 

“ _ No _ , James!” His mother met his father halfway and attempted to push him back. “Don’t you lay a finger on him!”

 

Felix stood there trembling, taking several steps back with his eyes wide with unshed tears as he watched his mother try and stop his father from inflicting the punishment he knew was coming. But his father was too strong—he grabbed her by the hair and roughly threw her aside. Felix cried out when he heard the loud crack that came with her head hitting the wall, and again when his father’s hand made contact with his face, sending him sprawling.  

 

“You bastard, you think you can speak to me that way and get away with it?”

 

Felix tried to crawl away, his cheek burning. His chest was also burning, and his hands were smoking. It took him a moment to realize something had changed, that he’d unlocked something deep within him. He turned over on his back, raising his trembling hands. Small licks of flames wrapped around his fingers, fueling each other until his fists were small balls of fire. He acted on pure instinct.

 

“What the fuc—”

 

With a scream, he thrust his hands out, and his father was consumed by the newfound flames erupting from his body. His father let out a terrible wail, trying to bat the flames away as he fell to the floor, still screaming in agony. The floor, being wood, began to catch the flames, and soon the fire was spreading. Suddenly, his mother was next to him, blood streaming steadily from her forehead.

 

“Felix!” she screamed, making a move to grab him but snatching her arms back in pain. Felix realized then that the fire had spread from his hands to his entire body, and panic settled over him.

 

“Mommy!” he cried, tears falling but evaporating immediately. He swiped at his arms, trying to set the fire out but only causing more flame blasts to begin destroying the attic. His mother shouted something he could hardly hear over the roaring blazes as the flames reached his head. He stumbled, feeling the floor beneath him begin to give way. His mother screamed and reached out for him. He tried to take her hand.

 

Later, the police would describe it as a birthday gone wrong—the candle was the start of the fire. But they couldn’t explain how the boy got out of it mostly unharmed, save for a few bruises from the fall he took, whereas the father had been killed and the mother seriously injured. “A miracle,” they called it.

 

October 1st, 1995. The Phoenix rose from the ashes.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i hope you enjoy this mess of a fic that i'm so excited to share! 
> 
> come chat with me on twitter, @klauskulture, if you want, i also might post sneak peeks once in a while on there as well :)
> 
> cliche incoming: kudos and comments are great (and motivating, which = faster updates :) ), so if you could leave one of those that would be great
> 
> thanks for reading!


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